


I Think This Time I'm Dying

by deffosocks



Category: Original Work
Genre: Addiction, Adult Themes, Angst, Bittersweet, Dark Thoughts, Depression, Implied Drug Use, Inspired by Music, Minor Drug Use, Other, Sad Ending, implied self harm, major angst, major trigger warning, mental health, normal tags, using songs to distract yourself from real life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:20:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28156713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deffosocks/pseuds/deffosocks
Summary: Depressed, alone and suicidal, Ace tried to escape reality in his music*******************************************************************************Coffee stained on the kitchen table, my old acoustic guitar propped up against the wall. It was the only thing I still had left. College started in an hour. I’d have enough time. My feet dragging across the floor, an empty panadol packet lying nearby. My eyes glazing over at the mere sight of it, and the irresistible temptation was overwhelming.*******************************************************************************Sorry its so short asjhhsliabdakla
Relationships: None





	I Think This Time I'm Dying

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah um sorry its so short. I wrote it on a whim when I wasn't really in the best place, I thought I would post it anyway. If you enjoy angst then you will love this.

Scars and bruises on my shins. The room’s fuzzy. Is that a bite on my arm? I can’t feel anything. Head one full of thoughts, now nothing. That's the scary part. Not feeling anything. It’s happening more and more now. I’m drowning. Drowning in my own thoughts, feelings, emotions. I’ve fucked up now, that's a certainty. The only certainty. Grip on reality is slipping, slipping, slipping, gone. Eyes straining, I can barely make out the desk in front of me. The harsh glow of youtube blinding, and the quiet hum of machines whirring creating some noise in the background. Blood stains the carpet, seeing my own leg gushing with blood below. I feel faint, never been a big fan of blood.

Lifting my hands, blood dripping off them as well, knife grabbed in one, which I quickly discarded. My legs moved by themself, getting up from my place on the floor. Coughing and spluttering, I gasped, tripping over my own feet. Faint, and out of breath, my feet carried my body to the mirror. Bags under bloodshot eyes, the substantial emotional weight too intense to be hidden in them. My fingertips trace a circle on my cheek, just as my mum did when I was young, leaving a trail of blood on sensitive skin. My mum. Died when I was 7. She was a beautiful lady, her soul so pure. Granted, my dad raised me well. Isn’t his fault for the way I turned out. He’s too poor to support me. Lived alone since I was 16.

Dazed, eyes returning to my reflection. Dead eyes stared back. Lungs aching, I coughed up more blood, its iron taste staining teeth. When was the last time I slept? Or ate? Coffee stains covered my old clothes. Something must be wrong. Hours googling symptoms told me I had rabies or something. I was in no state to work. Ring, ring, ring. Alarm rings, signalling the arrival of 7am. You couldn’t tell though. The sun never shone anymore, a sliver of light rarely showing. 

My morning coffee is bitter than usual, and eye’s straining to see in the dark kitchen. The power had gone a few months ago. It's definitely a bite mark on my arm, though from what I’m not sure. Coffee stained on the kitchen table, my old acoustic guitar propped up against the wall. It was the only thing I still had left. College started in an hour. I’d have enough time. My feet dragging across the floor, an empty Panadol packet lying nearby. My eyes glazing over at the mere sight of it, and the irresistible temptation was overwhelming. No. I have work in an hour, now's not the time.

It’s pale body stared intently at me, having a pull that only slightly overpowered the curse of the pills. Slightly worn from years of use, and almost as old as the 6 year old apartment block down the street. My fingers wrapping themselves around its neck. Hoisting it onto my lap, I fiddled with the tuning pegs and gently plucked the strings. The notes started randomly, until they eventually formed an old song I hadn’t heard in years.

_I think this time I'm dying  
I'm not melodramatic  
I'm just pragmatic beyond any  
Reasoning for thinking I've  
Got fucking rabies or something ___

____

My voice sounded harsh, one I didn’t recognise. When had I become like this, a product of cigarettes and screaming.

__

_I think this time I'm dying  
I think this time I'm dying. ___

__

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :3 I hope you enjoyed something a little more serious than what I would usually write.
> 
> National Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> or visit  
> Lifeline: https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/


End file.
